Wow, I had no idea I could offend so many people with so...little. It's easy to lob those criticisms anonymously.
So I'll move on.
I'm getting ready to pile 2 big kids and 1 big dog into my big honking, gas-guzzling momvan and head to the Shenendo'h valley for some...well, I'd like to think it was R and R, ...if "R and "R" stands for "arrrrgh" and "arrrrrrrgue".
I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this will be an excursion that is full of adventure and happy surprises. The boys will be nice and helpful, the dog won't puke in the van, the van will behave and get us to our destinations without incident.
Happy trails.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
crotchtastic
ok, godammit, I'm posting.
While I really, really don't like the idea that I need to edit myself because someone complains about the content here (oddly, since it's pretty clear that nobody reads the damn thing) I have done just that because I admit perhaps I don't fully understand how a teenage boy's brain works regarding his mother. And in the very off-chance that Boo would actually read this entry, I have deleted most of it to shield him from imagery that, I'm told by more than one grown man, might offend him.
I wonder if Madonna has these issues.
This week, Jeremy took a spill off his new BMX bike. A driveway took a couple chunks of flesh and sinew and connective tissue out of his knee. I took him to the ER on Wednesday, where they sewed him up with a few stitches. He can't really bend his leg yet, to protect his stitches.
While we were waiting in an ER cubbie, a dad and a little kid entered the cubbie next to us. It sounded like they'd been in a car accident. They seemed ok, but the longer they sat in there, the more excitable and impatient the kid became.
"I'm going to be ok, Dad, right? I'm going to be ok. I don't need no doctor."
mumblemumble, said Dad.
"My heart will make me better. So will my memories."
"Yeah, yeah." Some talk about mom being pregnant.
"And mom...when she has the new baby they'll have to put her crotch back together!" the kid said, loudly and knowingly.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," sighed dad. Jeremy and I looked at each other and stifled a giggle.
That's pretty much how it works when you give birth naturally. Your crotch stretches and contorts to make way for this watermelon-sized being and then, if you're lucky and you do your kegels, it snaps back into shape, ready for adventure.
It has been recently suggested to me that what I had previously posted here would make a teenage boy's blood curdle, to suggest that his mother was somehow injured during childbirth.
It has been recently suggested to me that what I had previously posted here would make a teenage boy's blood curdle, to suggest that his mother was somehow injured during childbirth.
I wonder if Madonna has these issues.
Anyway, ER kid, if you're reading this, don't worry about your mom's crotch. It can take care of itself.
Monday, August 10, 2009
ackkkk
Good GOD, I need to post something. But what? WHATTTTT??
I am completely tapped out. Utterly useless. Totally benign. My head is like an empty plastic milk jug.
I am completely tapped out. Utterly useless. Totally benign. My head is like an empty plastic milk jug.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
animeNext!
I'm sitting in the bar at the Double Tree hotel and conference center in New Brunswick, host of the AnimeNext! convention.
Brief explanation: Anime is Japanese cartoons. Like Speed Racer and Astro Boy, but apparently more hip, although, truly, to a 12-year-old girl, Speed Racer was kind of hot, even if the thin lines of his animated lips only moved up and down to accommodate the English language, rather than form themselves around every vowel and consonant.
Manga is the graphic novel version of anime. Both platforms boast many of the same characters, one of the most recognizable being those from the Naruto series or Avatar. Avatar: The Last Airbender, is in live action production, directed by M. Night Shyamalan for release in 2010.
I am here in the bar because it's hot outside and there are a zillion kids moving about, up to maybe age mid-20s, here for this convention, and the lobby is crowded and stifling.
Last year when I brought Evan here for the MangaNext! convention, I was a tad hungover from Halloweening at the Nutty Professor's; consequently I forgot to bring things to keep me amused, like books or the puter or my phone or my driver’s license. So I spent a couple of hours in the parking lot, napping. I am a model of exemplary parenting.
But this time I came prepared and not hungover: I've got the Mac, snacks, 2 books, my filing cabinet so I could file a bagful of bills, and I even cleaned the trash out of the van. I mean, we're here for a good, what, 8-10 hours, anyway, and for the price, it ought to include a hotel room and room service and complimentary massage.
These conventions are extremely well-run and well-staffed. For the fringe element I imagine this thing attracts, I'm amazed at the amount of things they have for these kids to do/see/hear. Most attendees dress as their favorite anime character, or perhaps whatever character's costume is currently on sale, because most of these come from Japan or China and they ain't cheap.
Some of them wear their own elaborate creations; others are bought by parents who are too lazy or uninspired to help their kids make their own. Guilty as charged.
Attendees have these "cosplays," in which they perform skits; they have fighting demonstrations using foam and plastic weapons, and they all go around hugging each other.
This year, Evan is Haku, who was a villager from the land of Water from the Avatar series. His character is rather androgynous and has long black hair. He later became a Ninja after meeting Zabuza Momochi. Haku has the kekkei genkai ability of Ice Release, which allows him to control two types of nature chakra. He can control both Water and Wind chakra; this gives Haku the ability to use Ice chakra, a mixture of the two.
I have no idea what I just wrote.
In any event, this is Evan's character:
He dies early on in the series, so girls yell “Haku!” and come up to him and give him sorrowful hugs. Girls here seem to be especially empathetic to characters that die.
Here's the thing: this is about as geeky a convention as you’ll find. But fortunately you won't find any fat balding Yodas or middle age Sith-types here. It's all kids. White kids, black kids, all nationalities. All oddly dressed, all geeky and probably pretty smart, happily sharing character stories and adventures.
There is no hint of self-consciousness in these kids. They mill about in their pink platform boots and swirling robes, colorful masks and wings and orange spiky hair and, for some, tails, among the regular hotel guests. It's a chance for me to see kids who are, at least for today, a little like Evan, and share his interest in this world I don't understand. I love Evan a little more because of this.
Brief explanation: Anime is Japanese cartoons. Like Speed Racer and Astro Boy, but apparently more hip, although, truly, to a 12-year-old girl, Speed Racer was kind of hot, even if the thin lines of his animated lips only moved up and down to accommodate the English language, rather than form themselves around every vowel and consonant.
Manga is the graphic novel version of anime. Both platforms boast many of the same characters, one of the most recognizable being those from the Naruto series or Avatar. Avatar: The Last Airbender, is in live action production, directed by M. Night Shyamalan for release in 2010.
I am here in the bar because it's hot outside and there are a zillion kids moving about, up to maybe age mid-20s, here for this convention, and the lobby is crowded and stifling.
Last year when I brought Evan here for the MangaNext! convention, I was a tad hungover from Halloweening at the Nutty Professor's; consequently I forgot to bring things to keep me amused, like books or the puter or my phone or my driver’s license. So I spent a couple of hours in the parking lot, napping. I am a model of exemplary parenting.
But this time I came prepared and not hungover: I've got the Mac, snacks, 2 books, my filing cabinet so I could file a bagful of bills, and I even cleaned the trash out of the van. I mean, we're here for a good, what, 8-10 hours, anyway, and for the price, it ought to include a hotel room and room service and complimentary massage.
These conventions are extremely well-run and well-staffed. For the fringe element I imagine this thing attracts, I'm amazed at the amount of things they have for these kids to do/see/hear. Most attendees dress as their favorite anime character, or perhaps whatever character's costume is currently on sale, because most of these come from Japan or China and they ain't cheap.
Some of them wear their own elaborate creations; others are bought by parents who are too lazy or uninspired to help their kids make their own. Guilty as charged.
Attendees have these "cosplays," in which they perform skits; they have fighting demonstrations using foam and plastic weapons, and they all go around hugging each other.
This year, Evan is Haku, who was a villager from the land of Water from the Avatar series. His character is rather androgynous and has long black hair. He later became a Ninja after meeting Zabuza Momochi. Haku has the kekkei genkai ability of Ice Release, which allows him to control two types of nature chakra. He can control both Water and Wind chakra; this gives Haku the ability to use Ice chakra, a mixture of the two.
I have no idea what I just wrote.
In any event, this is Evan's character:
He dies early on in the series, so girls yell “Haku!” and come up to him and give him sorrowful hugs. Girls here seem to be especially empathetic to characters that die.
Here's the thing: this is about as geeky a convention as you’ll find. But fortunately you won't find any fat balding Yodas or middle age Sith-types here. It's all kids. White kids, black kids, all nationalities. All oddly dressed, all geeky and probably pretty smart, happily sharing character stories and adventures.
There is no hint of self-consciousness in these kids. They mill about in their pink platform boots and swirling robes, colorful masks and wings and orange spiky hair and, for some, tails, among the regular hotel guests. It's a chance for me to see kids who are, at least for today, a little like Evan, and share his interest in this world I don't understand. I love Evan a little more because of this.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
shout out
I'd like to give a shout out to Helen Mae, always and forever first lady of Wenonah, for coming to my defense at a funeral of someone I didn't know.
This will make sense to no one but H, and surely Helen Mae probably doesn't have a blog, much less a facebook or a twitter account, and she will never see this, but, just in case: thank you, Helen Mae. You're a classy lady.
This will make sense to no one but H, and surely Helen Mae probably doesn't have a blog, much less a facebook or a twitter account, and she will never see this, but, just in case: thank you, Helen Mae. You're a classy lady.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
the perfect trip to wawa
I stopped into Wawa tonight after Remy's game. They won 6-4, and he wanted what he calls a wet pretzel--a pretzel with that kind of slimy coating on it from the humidity or whatever. And I needed half and half for my morning coffee.
So I parked and went in, and went to the atm because I had to get money out.
I'm standing at the machine and this familiar clangy guitar comes on, rather loudly, for the Wawa...and it goes
der der der der dederdederdederdeder
der der der der dederdederdederdeder
and then the happy drums and tambourine..
The Las: There She Goes.
A modern classic, in my mind, and you don't hear it much anymore. Any song that makes you move your head right and left like that one dancing girl from the dance scene during the play rehearsal in A Charlie Brown Christmas, when Schroeder's playing the piano...she just goes right to left, while Sherman shrugs his shoulders up and down, and Snoopy, well, he's got happy feet.
Anyway, I stand there, making my transaction, grinning from ear to ear, head bobbing back and forth at the atm. Singing. Just a little.
So I get my half and half, searching for one with a late date (they call women like me "milk maids") and then go up to the counter, grinning, to the pretzel thing, get Remy's wet pretzel and place the items on the counter. For once, I am FIRST and ONLY in the Wawa line, there is no one ahead of me, with their hot dogs and Gatorade and too-sweet, machine-made cappufrappuchinos, asking for smokes and a money order and digging through their pockets for change. I am alone at the counter.
The checker says something to me, but I am totally not paying attention. It's the Las, for crissakes, don't talk to me now!
I finish paying, and the song is ending: There She Goes....there she goes...there she goes....
and I left. Perfect timing.
So I parked and went in, and went to the atm because I had to get money out.
I'm standing at the machine and this familiar clangy guitar comes on, rather loudly, for the Wawa...and it goes
der der der der dederdederdederdeder
der der der der dederdederdederdeder
and then the happy drums and tambourine..
The Las: There She Goes.
A modern classic, in my mind, and you don't hear it much anymore. Any song that makes you move your head right and left like that one dancing girl from the dance scene during the play rehearsal in A Charlie Brown Christmas, when Schroeder's playing the piano...she just goes right to left, while Sherman shrugs his shoulders up and down, and Snoopy, well, he's got happy feet.
Anyway, I stand there, making my transaction, grinning from ear to ear, head bobbing back and forth at the atm. Singing. Just a little.
So I get my half and half, searching for one with a late date (they call women like me "milk maids") and then go up to the counter, grinning, to the pretzel thing, get Remy's wet pretzel and place the items on the counter. For once, I am FIRST and ONLY in the Wawa line, there is no one ahead of me, with their hot dogs and Gatorade and too-sweet, machine-made cappufrappuchinos, asking for smokes and a money order and digging through their pockets for change. I am alone at the counter.
The checker says something to me, but I am totally not paying attention. It's the Las, for crissakes, don't talk to me now!
I finish paying, and the song is ending: There She Goes....there she goes...there she goes....
and I left. Perfect timing.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
iced
Why is it that a regular coffee can cost, say, $1.00?
Add a few ice cubes, and it's $1.69.
I went to the WaWa recently for an iced coffee. They have a machine that dispenses pre-made cappuccino and "iced coffee." Or something like it. It's all too sweet for me. So I got a cold cup, put some ice in, poured in some extra double mighty strong hot coffee, added some milk and a whisper of Splenda, stirred it up, put a lid on it, stuck a straw in the "x", and headed to the counter.
The counter gal charged me for an "iced coffee."
"Uh, this is just coffee-coffee," I explained.
"An iced coffee," she offered.
"Well, it started out as a hot coffee. Then I put my own ice and milk and Splenda and stirred it up. It LOOKS like an iced coffee, but it's really a hot coffee with ice."
She considered that for a moment.
"Really. I made it myself. It's not from the machine." I looked hopefully at her, sending thought beams into her head that said, "hot coffee with ice, hot coffee with ice...must...charge...hot coffee price."
"Ok." She charged me for hot coffee, no ice.
Sheesh. I don't know when or why iced coffee became so popular. It's like nobody ever drank it, nobody ever thought to put ice into hot coffee, and now you can buy it anywhere. It's like the prostitute of beverages. Overpriced, sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter, and you can buy them at the corner.
Add a few ice cubes, and it's $1.69.
I went to the WaWa recently for an iced coffee. They have a machine that dispenses pre-made cappuccino and "iced coffee." Or something like it. It's all too sweet for me. So I got a cold cup, put some ice in, poured in some extra double mighty strong hot coffee, added some milk and a whisper of Splenda, stirred it up, put a lid on it, stuck a straw in the "x", and headed to the counter.
The counter gal charged me for an "iced coffee."
"Uh, this is just coffee-coffee," I explained.
"An iced coffee," she offered.
"Well, it started out as a hot coffee. Then I put my own ice and milk and Splenda and stirred it up. It LOOKS like an iced coffee, but it's really a hot coffee with ice."
She considered that for a moment.
"Really. I made it myself. It's not from the machine." I looked hopefully at her, sending thought beams into her head that said, "hot coffee with ice, hot coffee with ice...must...charge...hot coffee price."
"Ok." She charged me for hot coffee, no ice.
Sheesh. I don't know when or why iced coffee became so popular. It's like nobody ever drank it, nobody ever thought to put ice into hot coffee, and now you can buy it anywhere. It's like the prostitute of beverages. Overpriced, sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter, and you can buy them at the corner.
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